


The Inner Workings of My Mind Are an Enigma

by lunchablepizza



Category: Inanimate Insanity (Web Series)
Genre: Austistic Fan, Fan and Paintbrush are friends, Implied Fan/Knife, Knife is trying his best, More tags to be added, idk - Freeform, sensory overloads, this was supposed to be a oneshot but i like the idea of watching these two develop
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:28:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23552329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunchablepizza/pseuds/lunchablepizza
Summary: Knife is trying his best to understand how Fan's head works, he promises. Paintbrush just wants their friend to be happy. It's a shock to both to see Knife try so hard.Shenanigans?
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28





	The Inner Workings of My Mind Are an Enigma

Paintbrush kept their routines simple. Wake up at a decent time, shower, have some breakfast commune, with their hotel mates, eat lunch, etc etc. They had their own loose set of patterns, with a bit of spontaneity. It wasn’t difficult for one to pick up on their routine, too. You could ask just about anyone where Paintbrush was at that moment, and 9 times out of 10, they could tell you exactly where they are and what they’re doing, not that there was much for anyone to do in the hotel. Starting a routine was a habit that they had picked up from living with Fan, and they learned to enjoy this. Paintbrush wasn’t rocked by any random events. However, some are just entirely unexpected.  
For one, they definitely weren’t anticipating on running into Knife, at least not at this hour. It was pretty typical for Knife to stay shut in his room for a few hours before talking to anyone. He just did his own thing alone. Paintbrush found this entirely respectable, so seeing Knife stomping towards Paintbrush at 10:15 in the morning was not something anyone had really expected. 

Paintbrush was sitting at the little table OJ had set in one of the common areas, chatting with Apple and Marshmallow.  
“How’s Baxter doing, Paintbrush?” Marsh asked, leaning her head on her chin. This was around the time she woke up every day, just in time to catch Paintbrush finishing breakfast.  
“Fan is watching him.” Paintbrush responded between sips of water. “He always likes watching over Baxter when I’m out. Probably helps him with the egg thing, I guess?”  
“You should bring Baxter to tonight crafts session!” Apple suggested, excitedly slapping her hands on the table, causing the dishes on top of it to shake slightly. Marshmallow cocks an eyebrow playfully as Apple retracts her hands, blushing. Paintbrush laughs meekly, wringing their hands together,  
“Oh, I don’t know if he’s ready to be let out, actually. I don’t know what I’d do if anything were to happen-,” Marshmallow and Apple begin to protest, asking Paintbrush to bring the crab at least once, soon, until something catches Marshmallow’s eye. She glares just beyond Paintbrush and stands up, picking up her mug and turning heel.  
“Gotta go, Painty. Sorry.” Apple and Paintbrush share a confused look before she glances behind Paintbrush. Her eyebrows raise. Paintbrush turns around in confusion before realizing exactly why his friend’s felt the need to ditch them so quickly.  
“Gotta go, bye!” Paintbrush turns around again, only to see Apple rushing off to another room. They sigh, turning to stand up only to realize Knife was right behind them. Paintbrush stumbles back on to the table as he places a hand beside them. Paintbrush flinches slightly, squeezing their eyes shut. They hope for the worst when,  
“Paintbrush.”  
They furrow their brow, squeezing open an eye and looking down.  
“Knife?” They ask, furrowing their brow in confusion. “Um, you’re up… early?”  
For the first time, Paintbrush focuses on Knife’s expression. They expected something more along the lines of… aggression, anger, something that would lead into him feeling the need to corner him at a table for no reason. Instead, he seems uneasy, almost stressed. His voice goes low when he speaks again,  
“I need your help.” Paintbrush raises an eyebrow, collecting theirself to full height. Knife takes his hand off the table and stuffs it in his jacket pocket.  
“You need my h-” Paintbrush begins to echo, until Knife cuts him off with an exaggerated hand motion. Paintbrush bites their tongue, rolling their eyes. In a much quieter tone, they ask again, “You need my help?” Knife stiffly nods his head before pulling the taller away from the room. Despite his smaller stature, Knife was much stronger than Paintbrush. Somehow, it still manages to catch them off guard.

Knife dragged Paintbrush to one of the many hotel halls, just out of the way of the common area. Knife crossed his arms over his chest, glancing around before clearing his throat.  
“Paintbrush,” he started, a heavy silence hanging between the two. Paintbrush leaned against the wall behind them, waiting for Knife to continue. For some reason, though, it seemed like he wasn’t sure where to start. The more Paintbrush looked at him, the more they began to notice. Knife wasn’t one to dress to impress, but he didn’t typically walk around the hotel in his sleeping clothes, either. Instead of something of his usual getup, Knife had stopped Paintbrush in a shabby pair of gray sweats and a loose t-shirt. He obviously hadn’t shaved yet either, or fixed his hair. His entire demeanor had shifted from a stone-cold punk to a disheveled dad on a Sunday morning, trying to round up his kids for Church. This was definitely a first for Painty.  
Knife took a sharp breath in, “Paintbr-”  
“I think that’s been established,” Paintbrush quipped, attempting to ease whatever was making Knife so… awkward. It was almost painful seeing him so tense, and what about? Knife faltered for a second. At first, Paintbrush had expected him to blow up, but there was something hiding in his expression that was holding him back. “What do you need my help for, Knife?”  
“You’re friends with Fan,” he stated. “That’s not a question, we all know this.” Paintbrush tilted their head, nodding in response.  
“Um, yes. Why?” Knife pushed on, twisting a string from his waistband around his finger,  
“He wont talk to me. He hasn’t since yesterday,” Knife’s tone evolved into something a bit more upsetting. Whatever he was thinking about was starting to hurt. Knife looked up, catching Paintbrush’s eye for the first time. “I don’t know if I did something, but could you help me… I dunno,” another strange hand gesture followed Knife’s faltering sentence.  
“You want me to help you talk to him?” Paintbrush asked, tone flat. Knife nodded, pursing his lips. Paintbrush had already noticed Fan seemed uncomfortable that night, but it wasn’t something unusual for them. Fan had texted them beforehand, saying to try and be quiet when they came in, and that he just needed some space to think and calm his senses down.  
His senses.  
Suddenly a light bulb went off in their head.  
“Knife, can you explain how he was acting, actually?” Paintbrush buzzed, pulling out their phone. Knife shot a confused glace to the other before racking his brain for an answer.  
“Well, he seemed fine at first, but after a while he wasn’t really makin’ any sense? He’d only say stuff like “uh-huh, yeah,” when I’d say somethin,” he explained. “He started looking a little spacey for a moment until he just. Got up and left.” Knife started to pace a bit, watching Paintbrush type away silently on their phone. He stared blankly for a moment before muttering quietly, “I dunno if I said something to upset him, but I just want to apologize.”  
Paintbrush had to do a double take. That was definitely new.  
“Well, actually,” Paintbrush stumbled, beckoning Knife to come closer, “I can’t say for sure if you did anything on purpose, but this isn’t something Fan is doing out of spite.” Knife cocked his head, approaching Paintbrush’s phone screen that they had exposed to the other. Paintbrush scrolled through a few older chats between the two and began to narrate the situation.  
“Sometimes when Fan is in a social setting, he gets overwhelmed. It can be for a lot of different reasons, too. The way he sometimes deals with this is going non-verbal. His brain kind of… overloads to the point where he has a hard time finding the energy to talk to people,” Paintbrush explains, tapping a blue chat bubble on their screen. It’s a message from Fan, dated back to a Christmas party from a few months ago. Knife could remember when Fan had left early that night. At the top of the text, he could see a line of pictures, all of a checkered flag.  
“The way Fan’s energy works is a bit different than ours does. Doing certain tasks is draining for some, but certain things like communicating can do a lot more to Fan’s energy gauge than it could to ours, depending on how he’s feeling.” Paintbrush watched Knife nod in recognition as he read through the message once more. As Paintbrush pulled up another message, Knife’s brow furrowed. What he was being told made sense, something was catching him off guard.  
“What are the flags for?” he asked, pointing at the top of the message. Paintbrush responded with a hum of recognition before taking their phone back, swiping their screen with haste for a moment. After a few moments, they pull up another page, littered with emojis and text.  
“See, Fan has this code that he put together, so he can let us know how he’s doing without having to say anything.” Paintbrush directs a finger to the checkered flag, allowing Knife to read it’s description. “That one means he’s drained, and needs some space. He’ll probably be non-verbal for a bit.”  
“And… how long does this usually last?” Knife questioned, fiddling with the drawstring of his pants again. Despite everything, he still seemed uneasy. Paintbrush adverted their gaze as they returned the phone to their pocket.  
“I dunno, actually,” they admit. “It could be anywhere from half an hour to a few days? It just… depends.” Knife’s expression falters for a moment before he sighs deeply. Paintbrush watches him as he struggles to find the words yet again.  
“Is there any way I can talk to him? During all of this?” he asks, his voice dropping in volume. Paintbrush’s eyebrows shoot up. Knife never seemed the type to care about someone’s well being like this. Although, they had noticed Fan and Knife hanging out a lot more, recently. Knife was typically around Fan at some point in the day, and Fan had been bringing up Knife into his conversations much more frequently. Plus, this was the first time Paintbrush had seen Knife ask for help from anyone, and for it to be about Fan of all people? Something about their roommate was important to Knife, whether he could understand exactly what was going on inside his head or not. He just wanted to know if Fan was alright, even if it was costing him some dignity.  
He even said the word apologize!

“It depends, really.” Paintbrush explained, “Sometimes he can text perfectly fine, but other times the words just aren’t there yet.” Suddenly, their phone chimes in their pocket. Knife turns his attention to Paintbrush’s fervent typing, practically on the edge of their screen. After about a minute, Paintbrush places their phone back into their pocket.  
“That was Fan,” they assured, locking eyes with Knife. “I don’t think he’s up for talking in person yet, but I think you should give him a text,” Paintbrush suggests. Knife responds with an awkward look, averting his eyes away. Paintbrush’s expression drops,  
“You do have his number, right?” Knife shakes his head, pulling his own phone from his pocket.  
“I was hoping I could get it from you, or something,” he muttered, offering the unlocked screen to the other. Paintbrush rolls their eyes, tapping in the phone number to Knife’s contacts. They hand the phone back to Knife, staring expectantly as he cracks a relieved smile. He looks back up to Paintbrush, who quirks a brow.  
“Oh, right,” Knife stumbles, breaking eye contact. It’s almost a struggle for him to mutter a quick “Thanks.” before nodding awkwardly, shuffling away into a nearby room.  
Paintbrush sighs, smiling as they proceed to their next part of their routine.


End file.
